


In Which Natasha Is Temporarily a Cat

by TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Crack, F/M, I have no regrets, Loki is a dick, Magic, idek, natasha is a cat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>It’s up to Clint to say what they’re all thinking.</i><br/> <br/><i>“Natasha. You’re a cat.”</i></p><p>  <i>Natasha hisses, because yes, she's worked that out for herself.</i><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which Natasha Is Temporarily a Cat

**Author's Note:**

> So, lately I've seen several fics where Tony is a cat, and some where Phil or Clint are dogs, and I got to thinking about how if Natasha were transformed into something, it would totally be a slinky black cat with big, golden-yellow lamplike eyes. So here you go.
> 
> By the way, anyone who wants to keep track of my fic progress and any plot bunnies I come up with should friend me at[ my LJ](http://aceofannwn.livejournal.com/), which is where I discuss fics that I'm working on and stuff.

Loki has done a lot of odd things, but he’s never done _this_ before.

Natasha attempts to balance herself on her four legs, and a low _rwrowwl_ escapes her throat.

The other Avengers stare down at her. It’s up to Clint to say what they’re all thinking.

“Natasha. You’re a cat.”

Natasha hisses, because yes, she's worked that out for herself.

“Well, this could be awkward,” says Stark.

No one knows what to say to that.

* * *

After an hour in medical where it becomes increasingly clear that no one has any clue what to do about her involuntary change in species, Natasha decides she’s had enough.

Tail lashing, her posture furiously stiff, Natasha puts her ears back and tries to evade curious hands, making it clear that she is _done._

Of course, people are stupid, so Natasha has to sink her teeth into one unwisely-reaching hand before anyone pays any attention.

The scientist lets out an agonized cry.

In the ensuing commotion ( _“she bit me!”_ ) Clint ambles over.

“Getting sick of this, huh?”

Natasha drops her stiff, angry pose and winds forward into Clint’s space without actually touching him, in an expression of reserved friendliness.

“Yeah, me too. How about we ditch?”

Natasha likes this idea. She leaps at Clint, ignoring his pained yelps as her claws briefly dig into the skin beneath his vest, and scrambles up onto his shoulder.

“ _Ow_ , Tasha,” Clint grumbles, but he looks pleased that she’s chosen his shoulder as a perch.

Natasha is glad too. She has a much better view from up here.

The two of them leave for the Tower before anyone in medical can stop them.

* * *

“You know, you actually make a pretty adorable cat,” Stark says. Natasha’s response is to thoughtfully rake her claws down his leg.

“ _JESUS CHRIST!_ ” Stark howls, stumbling back out of mauling range, blood already welling up.

Clint nearly kills himself laughing where he’s sitting on the couch, and Natasha slinks over to smugly curl up on his lap in a deceptively soft and cuddly ball.

“What the fuck is wrong with your girlfriend, Barton?!” Stark yells, bleeding profusely.

“She’s a cat, Stark, what did you expect?” Clint asks reasonably, and Natasha purrs. “You think she was somehow going to be less violent than usual? She’s an adorable fluffy ball of DEATH. It’s what cats do, man.”

Natasha is pleased that even as a cat, Clint understands her so well.

Rogers gives Natasha a look of stern disappointment, but Natasha pays no notice. Cats don’t feel guilt.

“You will regret this,” Stark vows, swearing as a smirking Banner brings the first aid kit over and begins to dress the long, deep scratches.

Natasha stares at him.

“Mrrow?” she asks innocently, blinking wide, lamp-like eyes.

Stark just glares.

Clint tentatively scratches Natasha behind the ears. It’s kind of nice.

* * *

Phil arrives fifteen minutes afterwards.

Natasha purrs at the sigh of him, and kneads Clint’s thighs a little (“ _Jesus, Tasha! Not so close to my junk, okay?”_ ).

Phil stares at them both, the bland, expressionless stare that cows most of SHIELD.

“Evening, sir,” Clint greets him cheerfully, because being cowed isn’t his style.

Instead of telling them off Phil just sighs, and pads over to sink down onto the couch next to Clint and Natasha.

Clint changes the channel to _Bridezillas_ out of sympathy. If Phil isn’t even bothering to scold them, it’s been a hell of a bad day for him.

Phil blinks gratefully at the TV screen, and then turns his head to look at Natasha.

“Patting you would bring me nothing but bodily harm, wouldn’t it.”

Natasha considers the question. Ordinarily the answer would be yes, but this is Phil – a stressed, exhausted Phil who could use a little comfort right now, Natasha can tell.

As a concession, she tilts her head and gives Phil an impatient stare, inviting him to scratch behind her ears.

Phil gives a tiny, tired smile, and slowly reaches out. He’s gentle, but expert – apparently Phil has been acquainted with cats at some point in his life – and it turns out he’s an even better ear-scratcher than Clint. Natasha promptly stirs, stretches, and steps delicately forward into Phil’s lap, where she settles back into soft furry ball mode.

Some of the lines around Phil’s eyes relax as Natasha’s weight settles down on his legs. Phil has a very comfortable lap. He doesn’t twitch restlessly like Clint does. 

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me for Phil,” Clint complains, sounding vaguely amused. Natasha ignores him.

The three of them sit there a while, Clint bitching about how trashy _Bridezillas_ is, Phil throwing back absent-minded rejoinders as he watches TV and continues to pat Natasha.

It’s pleasant, but a little boring.

Natasha stares at Phil’s shirt speculatively, wondering how much hair it is possible to deposit via a single affectionate rub.

“Don’t even think about it, Natasha,” Phil says, and Natasha stops purring and frowns at him.

Phil smiles back knowingly.

“I’ve had three cats,” Phil says in explanation. “I recognize the look.”

“What look?” asks Clint. He’s ignored.

“Of course, there’s always Stark’s suits,” Phil adds contemplatively.

Natasha closes her eyes in feline meditation, and resumes purring.

* * *

Natasha insists on sleeping on Clint’s head, which is warm, despite Clint’s bitter complaints.

Three hours later he almost suffocates when Natasha changes back.

“ _Fucking Loki,_ I swear,” he says, once the confused scuffle is over. Natasha grins as she strips off her tactical suit and grabs the pajamas off her nightstand.

“On the other hand, I left cat hair all over Stark’s favourite suit.”

“I knew there was a reason I liked you best,” Clint says gleefully. “Blame Phil?”

“Blame Phil,” she agrees.


End file.
